The Call Of Natchure
by Grey L. Bloom
Summary: Ferrets and Gaspode. Mouldy blueberries. Imaginary salmon. Salty rocks. Little stupid piece of dirt. Read. Digest. Scoff. Repeat as needed.


A/N: Whee. Inspired by late-night fridge-harvesting. BEWARE.  
  
  
The Call Of Natchure  
  
  
  
Ferrets are, by nature, very, very hyper.  
  
Ferrets are also, by nature, very, very speechless. This means that they can't talk. At all. I'm serious. It's true. I cannot tell a lie.  
  
Well, no, I'm wrong, I've told lies before. But just little white lies like "no, that doesn't make you look fat" and "yes, I think that pink with red polka-dots is just lovely with a barf green dress" and "of course I've done my homework, what sort of person do you think I am?".  
  
Ahem.  
  
Moving on...  
  
  
  
"Now THAT are what I call a big fish," said Zoomph approvingly.  
  
There was a moment of silence.  
  
"It's a can," said Dhime slowly.  
  
"But thee musht admit that if it were a fish it would be a very big fish," said Zoomph, his voice echoing metallic-(...er...)-ly as he stuck his head into the can.  
  
"However YOU must admit that fish are not normally tubular and hollow and made out of-" Dhime wrapped his knuckles on the can "-tin."  
  
"But they ARE a lovely shilver colour," Zoomph replied, coming out with a mouldy blueberry in his teeth. "And look! Thish one hash pink shtuff inshide! Jusht like a fish!"  
  
"Blueberries are supposed to be BLUE, Zoomph. Hence the name."  
  
"Henshe it'sh my blueberry. You can't shcam me out of it."  
  
"You couldn't pay me to take it."  
  
"You're jusht jealoush."  
  
  
  
Gaspode, Wonder Dog, scrabbled in the gutter looking for something tasty, like perhaps a salted rock. Rocks did amazing things for your bones, he'd heard. Or was that TO your bones...?  
  
Something hit them on the head. Gaspode paused in his archeologizing. It was a can. A rather large can, but a can nonetheless.  
  
"Woop! Shorry about that, Mishter Doggie shir! Shee? Thee should look where you'sh toshshing!"  
  
Gaspode spun.  
  
"WHAT are YOU?" he asked incredulously, after he had gotten over his initial shock.  
  
"-I- are Zhoomph," said Zoomph proudly, displaying his pink blueberry. "A ferret. Of the wossname, geniush ferretush... shommat."  
  
"Vulgaris," said the smaller ferret hopelessly.  
  
"Vulgarish!" exclaimed Zoomph proudly. "And thish are Dhime, who are another ferret. Only he ish not ash shtreet-shmart ash ush, if thee knowsh what I mean, yarrsh?" He winked at Gaspode.  
  
Dhime covered his pointy face with two small paws and heaved an incredibly heartfelt sigh.  
  
"You can talk too?" ventured Gaspode after a moment.   
  
Zoomph jumped into the air like a small, furry pogo stick. "Blimey!" he shrieked, patting his heart quickly and fanning himself with his other paw. "The dumb dog can talk!"  
  
Dhime rolled into a smaller ball.  
  
Gaspode's eyes bulged. "I'm not a DUMB DOG," he protested noisily. "I happen to be able to ask for biscuits in... two different languages!"  
  
"WE get given shtuff for FREE," Zoomph said conspiriatorially, recovering quickly and dashing to Gaspode's side. "What are thousht name, dog?"  
  
"Gaspode, named after the famous Gaspode," said Gaspode, who was named after the famous Gaspode. He realized too late that...  
  
"Gashpode! Wunnerful to meethee'!" cried Zoomph into Gaspode's ear. The ferret leaned against the dog's head calmly. "You shee, it are a hard life on the shtreetsh, eshpecially when you have to feed anuvver mouff."  
  
"Yes," Dhime said woefully. "It's almost as if he has two, he eats so much."  
  
Zoomph ignored this. "It all shtarted when we wash getting our bath like regular, being ekshtra careful of the hipposh, of courshe" ("Hipposh?" Gaspode hissed. "Hippos," Dhime hissed back) "And our man, he gave ush shome food, an' we et it, and SHPANG-" the ferret waved his arms in the air expansively "-we realished IT."  
  
"It?" asked Gaspode suspiciously. This sounded far too much like what had happened to him.  
  
"IT!" cried Zoomph. "The ol' 'who are I? where are I? why are I ashking theshe queshtionsh?' shpiel. Sho I shaid 'enuff coushant! time for rampantiesh!' An' sho I deshided, I deshided, I deshided" ("Actually, it was ME who decided this," whispered Dhime) "that me and our young laddie me lad laddie here should flush the coop!"  
  
"Floss the coop?" Gaspode asked after a moment's thought.  
  
"Flush the coop," explained Dhime patiently. "But he means FLY the coop."  
  
Gaspode nodded slowly and sat down on his haunches.  
  
"Sho we flushed the coop!" ("There's the floss again," muttered Gaspode) "And we came here! And I have jusht found a deletectectabibble young pieshe of shalmon!"  
  
"Mouldy blueberry," said Dhime. "And there's nothing 'young' about it."  
  
"It are MY food, it are what -I- shay it are," said Zoomph defensively. "And it are shalmon."  
  
Gaspode and Dhime looked at each other in the universal way of looking that means "Yes, he is an idiot, isn't he?"  
  
"But now I think it are time to coushant again," said Zoomph timidly, scrabbling around Gaspode's head and grabbing Dhime. "Toodle-pip! If ever thee happensh by the-"  
  
"Ankh-Morpork Royal College of Heralds," Dhime prompted.  
  
"Ankh-Morpork Royal College of Heraldsh, don't heshitate to come coushant with ush!" Zoomph beamed like he was giving away bags of gold. "Or maybe a rampantiesh if thar masheter-man are a good shport."  
  
He dragged Dhime off in a cloud of wet dust, accompanied by the sounds of rattling tin cans.  
  
Gaspode got up, muttered to himself, and tried to find a salted rock. 


End file.
